


Otherwhere

by WinterBerry



Category: Faerie Folklore, Original Work, winterberry-author
Genre: Adventure, Difficult Love, F/M, Folklore, M/M, Modern Faery Tale, Multiple Dimensions, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Slow Build, Wit and Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterBerry/pseuds/WinterBerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wisty has a logical mind and the heart of an idealistic dreamer. As a child she believed in magic and love, but betrayal and broken bonds caused her to lose faith in both. Now, as a young adult, the world seems dull and cold. Taking solace in books, Wisty remains distant from everyone, her heart walled away. Still, she wishes for something more, for that phantom magic. When she meets Vale, a dangerous other worldly being, he offers her just what she’s been longing for. A world like the ones in her books. Unwittingly, Wisty enters into something she has no understanding of and becomes caught in the middle of an ancient struggle. Cruelty, madness and love are boundless in Otherwhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otherwhere

**_Wisty_ **

 

 

 

Wisty was afflicted with an acute case of boredom. She sighed heavily and tried to dab the sticky mixture of coffee and whip cream from her apron. It was still an hour until the Alchemic Brew closed. The café had been packed all day, but that wasn’t anything unusual. Wisty didn’t necessarily dislike her job. The tips were pretty good, but going on three years as a barista and the repetition was beginning to ware on her. She longed to be at home reading a book or watching the latest sci-fi show with a sketch pad on one knee. Already, an idea of what she’d draw across smooth, white pages was coalescing in a corner of her brain. Viciously, she cracked her knuckles. An ache akin to growing pains permeated her arms, an ache that crept all the way into her brain. Hours of tamping espresso tended to do that, but Wisty could still whip out a latte lightning quick. Coworkers often referred to her as the coffee ninja, a title Wisty was secretly a little proud of. Automatically, Wisty smiled as an elderly gentlemen walked in. She had always preferred to inhabit her internal world more than the external.

More than once Wisty had wondered why she worked at a café when she was, as her mother said, an antisocial. Ironstone, a small town nestled amongst hilly farmlands, provided few other options. Originally established during the gold rush, its size had remained small and the main form of business was its varied agriculture. In a tight circle of twelve multicolor buildings sat the café. It was right next to the highway and out in the middle of nowhere. A person had to drive at least an hour to reach any major cities. Wisty lived ten miles up the road with her family in a grey-blue house. It was the fifth house down a one way street, set into the high side of a shallow valley. The view from the back looked out over the entire expanse. It was beautiful and Wisty hated it.

She’d moved from Gateland, the green, rainy city of her birth, to Ironstone at age eighteen. A good part of Ironstone’s seasons were hot and dry, a turnaround from the drizzling climate Wisty was used to. She missed the rain terribly. The soft sound of it pattering on the roof, the fresh smell it left each morning and way it seemed to make all colors richer. Wisty had even loved the grey drifting clouds, they’d reminded her of great sailing whales.

The steaming milk in her left hand came near to foaming over as she daydreamed of crunchy leaves underfoot, moss and ivy clinging to brick walls and a song playing through her headphones. She sighed and refocused on the task at hand, she found herself daydreaming of other places more and more often. Revisiting old memories over and over again, despite their bitterness. It felt like starving, chewing on the past and receiving no sustenance from it. Better a memory than nothing she’d tell herself.

When Wisty was thirteen she’d fallen in love with a friend’s older brother. How easy it had been to give her heart away, but it had been a child’s heart. A shy, quiet girl, the older boy had seemed worlds away. At the very sight of him Wisty would blush profusely, duck her head and drop whatever she happened to be holding at the time. It was beyond embarrassing and rather than make a fool of herself she chose to watch him from a distance. After two years of keeping it to herself, she’d made the very foolish mistake of telling her young friend. The friend, who it turned out wasn’t much of a friend at all, didn’t spare any time in telling the secret to her brother, family and everyone else. The betrayal cut deep and Wisty didn’t trust anyone with her secrets again. As someone loyal to a fault, an old soul, she didn’t understand. She became a loner. The odd girl who sat by herself at lunch reading a book.

Finally, at seventeen, Wisty met Isaac. He worked at a local grocery store and was twenty one and kind of cute. Eventually, they went on a few dates and Wisty had her first kiss. The location was right, on a beach at night, but there was no spark, not for Wisty at least. He sent her snippets of poetry and acted like a lovesick puppy. It only served to drive Wisty away. Then came the news of her parents’ divorce. Wisty had known that their relationship was unstable, but it didn’t make the situation less painful.

Whenever she thought back on it she remembered a night when it had all become too much, the divorce, a passionless relationship, a sense of betrayal. She had sat in her closet, crying gut wrenching, heart achingly painful sobs until her very soul felt bruised. Among the things Wisty hated, crying in front of others was at the top of her list. The next day she’d broken up with her short term boyfriend, adding a great dollop of guilt on top of the pain.

Wisty and her mom, Lilly, moved out and got their own apartment. Shortly after Wisty began her senior year, Lilly met Oliver. He lived in the apartment one down and one over from their own. Wisty spent a lot of time alone in the apartment after that. An already quiet person, the emotional beating made her withdraw further into herself. Speaking with others only when necessary, except her mom, but even she was gone much of the time, out with her new boyfriend. Naturally an independent loner, solitude didn’t particularly bother Wisty. Still, a harrowing a loneliness sat heavily in her chest. It was a contradictive torment. Alone, she mourned the loss of her fragile family. Many a night she cried herself to sleep, unable to shake the melancholia. Internalizing it all.

The summer after Wisty’s graduation Lilly and Oliver married. The wedding was beautiful, full of little lights and chiffon dresses. Wisty didn’t complain about the hasty marriage, she just wanted her mom to be happy. It soon became apparent that they wouldn’t be staying in Gateland. Oliver hated the rain, so they moved to Ironstone, his sunny hometown. Wisty didn’t want to go, but she had no money and felt emotionally adrift. Her life was completely different from how she had imagined it would be at eighteen. She was worried about her mom as well, Oliver was practically a stranger to her. Still, it was a new beginning, something she sorely wished for. Ironstone turned out to be tiny and Wisty felt as if she had been exiled. Oliver, like her father, was a bit of a control freak. She didn’t exactly like or dislike him and kept to herself. Despite it all, Wisty was no laggard. She had two obvious choices; get a job or go to college. School had left a bad taste in her mouth and although she did want to go to college, she wasn’t ready to have all of her free time monopolized by school work again. Thus the job at The Alchemic Brew, the only local café.

Three years passed in this manner. Wisty was good at her job. Her room was full of paintings and books. She couldn’t bear to part with a single one. Faces, characters, landscapes, dreams and fantasies where splashed across the insides of dozens of sketch books and canvases. Each one a little piece of her heart and soul. Both her mother and father urged her to go to college, stressing that she’d end up in a dead end job for the rest of her life. Finally, Wisty relented and promised to start in a year. Although she loved to create art, she hated to use her abilities for things she had no interest in, namely commissions. They gave Wisty a serious case of artists block. She knew it was selfish, but she couldn’t help it. Instead, she had decided to get a degree pertaining to her second love; literature.

Life wasn’t all bad, but Wisty still felt an odd restless dissatisfaction. She paid a portion of the rent and came and went as she pleased. There were a few co-workers that she considered to be almost-friends, but it was a rare thing for her to see them off the job. Although there had been opportunities, Wisty remained single. At age twenty one she felt despondent and jaded. The sensation of falling in love a distant fairy-tale. One she was losing faith in. Still, she hoped for it. Hoped that a dashing stranger would stride through the doors of the café and make her heart beat faster. Much like the Easter Bunny and Santa Clause, love seemed like a something parents told children about to make life a little less cruel. Life itself being a spiteful god with a hateful bag of tricks. Love the carrot that didn’t exist on a razor-sharp string.

Finally, the day was at an end. Smelling strongly of coffee, Wisty trudged out to the parking lot. The weather was cool and her breath hung in the air. It was early spring and the chill of winter was still clinging. Pulling her scarf tighter, Wisty peeled the tarp off of her blood red, vintage Honda motorcycle. She smiled slightly, happy to see it. Sliding onto the worn leather seat, Wisty released a sigh and some of the day’s tension. Slipping purple buds into her ears, she turned the volume up until it bordered on painful. The rise and fall of an operatic voice backed by some epic electric guitar filled her mind. Wisty found the metal genre to be oddly soothing, as long as the screaming portion remained minimal. Buckling on a silver helmet detailed with bat wings, Wisty kicked the bike to life and switched on the yellow glow of the single headlight. Peeling out of the parking lot, she hummed along to the song and shivered slightly. Despite her leather Jacket, the ride was still cold. Ten minutes later Wisty pulled into her driveway and parked her bike in the garage. Tucking her black, jaw length hair behind one ear, she slipped inside and kicked her boots off.

“How was your day, dear?” Lilly called from somewhere across the house.

“Fine, just busy” Wisty called back. She snagged an apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter and shut herself in her room. Stripping off her socks, black skinny jeans, leather Jacket and button down shirt Wisty flopped onto her canopy bed in her tank top and underwear. For a long moment she simply stared up at her pale grey ceiling. She’d chosen the color because it reminded her of rain clouds. Rolling off of the nest of grey blankets and red sheets, Wisty threw open the mirrored doors of her closet. Yanking a black V-neck long sleeve shirt off its hanger Wisty slipped it on and wriggled back into her jeans. Pulling on a thick knee length Jacket in her favorite shade of purple, she grabbed a shoulder bag, browsed her floor to ceiling book shelves and selected a dog eared volume. Tossing the book and apple into the bag, Wisty grabbed a half full sketch book along with some pens and pencils. She studied her pale, oval face in the mirror for a few seconds. The permanent dark smudges under her eyes were evidence of her insomnia also known as book addiction. Her black hair stuck up here and there, straight across bangs a little uneven. Arching a dark brow at herself, Wisty sighed and grabbed her hiking boots.

“I’ll be back in couple of hours!” Wisty called to her mom.

“Alright, be careful!”

“Yep!”Wisty closed the front door behind herself.

“Maybe I don’t want to be” she whispered.

Setting off down the road, it took Wisty ten minutes to make to the end of the pavement. The air smelled of hay and wood smoke. A metal gate marked the entrance to the expanse of untouched hills, dotted with oak trees. Technically it was farm land, the occasional bunch of cows meandering through, but Wisty had never seen anyone else on the green and yellow expanse of grass. It went on for miles. A half an hour later she reached her favorite spot. Almost too faded to be recognizable was a cluster of ancient headstones. They rested at the base of a small hill, really more of a mound. Wisty figured that it was probably from the earlier days of the town, back when there were still miners and bandits. Back when things were interesting. Something about the spot resonated with the melancholy note within her soul. It had become a favorite place to draw and read. Hidden away from the rest of the world.

Munching on the apple, Wisty leaned her back against one of the old, curved stones and flipped her book open. An hour later she was nodding off. It was unusual for her to become sleepy so early in the evening, being a natural born night owl. The day, however, had been particularly exhausting. After reading the same sentence for the fifth time, Wisty’s eyes closed of their own volition and her head lolled back against the stone. Sliding from her grasp, the book landed noiselessly in the grass, its spine facing up and the cover spread like wings. Wisty would have been horrified if she’d seen anyone else lay a book like that, it was bad for binding.

An odd noise woke Wisty. She sat up with a jolt. The sky was already mostly dark. Stars peeping out from behind fluffy, white bits of cloud and the moon was a ghostly crescent.

“Damn it” Wisty muttered. Home was a couple miles away and she hadn’t brought a flash light. The strange noise came again. It was a low splitting sound. The ground shuddered faintly. A burst of fear flared in Wisty’s gut. Was it an earthquake? No, it was coming from the mound right behind the tiny graveyard. Shoving the fallen book back into her bag, Wisty ducked down behind the headstone and peered over the top. In the faint light she could see a crack stretching up the length of the mound. The splitting noise continued and the crack widened. Mesmerized, Wisty watched the gap turn into a black archway. Heart pounding, she didn’t even consider running. A strange anticipation gripped her.

A shadowy form dove out of the arch and rolled across the grass. The gap closed with a rumbling crash. Wisty peered through the dark, trying to breathe quietly. She gripped her bag tightly in one hand, ready to use it as a weapon. Rising, the figure cursed in an unknown language. Shifting slightly, Wisty accidentally tapped the mostly uneaten apple with the toe of her boot. It rolled across the ground and bumped into a neighboring head stone. The stranger stiffened. There came a snicking noise and a long and a long blade glinted in the faint light. Wisty swallowed.

“Whoever is cowering over there had best come out now. I am in a rather foul mood and you will not like it if I have to come over there and drag your quivering hide out into the open” said a low, dulcet voice.

Wisty clenched her free hand until her nails bit into the flesh of her palm. Two options flashed through her mind; make a break for it or talk her way out of the situation. At least the first was still viable if she chose the second. Slowly, Wisty stood, trying not to shake in her boots.

“I-I wasn’t trying to hide, I just fell asleep while reading my book” she straightened further. “Actually, what right do you have to threaten me?” Wisty asked the stranger, an odd sort of bold anger gripping her. This was her spot and she hadn’t done anything wrong.

“A human?” The stranger said softly, stepping closer.

Now standing about ten feet away, Wisty could make out the stranger’s appearance. She let out a soft gasp. From beneath long, wild hair the color of ashen wheat poked slender, tapered ears. A black circlet bound his forehead in an intricate knot. Green eyes reminisce of forest shadows shone in the cool light, ringed by a similar verdant shade. All of the contours of his face were sharp and angled, the skin pale. The tails of his long, black coat flapped in the breeze. He was both breathtaking and alien. A creature from some ancient faerie tale.

“Why, you’re just a girl!” he said, sliding the sword back into its sheath.

“What are you…How did you come out of the hill side like that…?” Wisty trailed off, still taking in the stranger’s appearance.

“Hmmm, how old are you? I can never tell with you humans, such fleeting lives you have” He said, slowly walking around Wisty in a wide circle.

Wisty turned, keeping her gaze on him. There was something predatory in the way he walked and it set her on edge. “I-I asked you first”.

“Oh? Brave talk for an unarmed mortal” he said, smiling sweetly at her. His stance and words bellied the expression.

“What are you?” Wisty said with more conviction, although she was already coming to suspect.

He continued to circle. “I am old, I am young. I am of the hills and mounds. I once was and am no more. I am many, many things. Which one do you seek?”

Wisty swallowed and took a step back. The backs of her legs hit one of the grave stones and she let out a startled sound. She was trapped. “If I’m a human, then what kind of being are you?” Wisty persisted, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Tell me your name and I might tell you mine” he said slyly.

“Wisty” She said almost inaudibly.

He was only a few feet away now. “Wisty…” he said, lips shaping around the letters, as if tasting each syllable. “You have seen me and as the old laws state, I now owe you a boon”.

“…A boon?” Wisty said cautiously.

“A wish…Is there something you desire?” He was directly in front of her now, towering over her.

“I-I don’t know” She shivered and leaned back, any further and she’d tumble over the stone.

He touched her cheek with cool, smooth finger tips. Those strange green eyes searched her face, lips the color of berry juice curved up slightly at the corners. “Why are you so sad?”

Wisty’s limbs felt weak. The bag dropped from her fingers and hit the ground. “I…I’m not” but the words sounded like a lie even to her.

He laughed quietly. “Liar, it’s written all over you”.

Wisty’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. She could hear it pounding in her ears. All the years she’d put on a façade and this stranger, this alien being, had seen through her immediately. She felt stripped bare, exposed beneath the unnatural gaze. “…What’s your name?” she asked him, unable to think of anything else to say.

He was silent for a long moment. “Vale”.

“That’s a strange name” Wisty muttered, trying to school her train of thought.

“No stranger than ‘Wisty’” he replied, dropping his hand. “Now, what is your wish?”

“I…” Wisty thought of the emptiness she’d felt for so long. The boredom. Of how cold and distant her heart felt from everyone and everything. The loneliness. All of the broken, mourned relationship. Now, here was a being from some ancient tale offering her a wish. Her mind rebelled. She wanted to believe, but she’d let go of childish fantasies a long time ago. “Why should I believe you?”

Vale took a few steps back and sat atop one of the crumbling stones. His face gave away nothing. “I’m running out of time, choose”.

Wisty closed her eyes for a moment. “I just…I want more…I’m so sick of my tired little life…I want…I want an extraordinary existence”.

“That’s no simple request…I assume you’ll want dreams, fantasies and an adventure out of the deal?…What do you say to forming a pact with me?”

“A pact…As in I would owe you something?”  Wisty said, narrowing her gaze at him. She wasn’t stupid.

“Yes. A small favor. You need not worry about it now…It isn’t much to ask in exchange for your heart’s desires, is it?” He smiled winsomely at her.

Wisty wanted to say yes more than she’d wanted anything in a long time. The moment felt like a crossroads and the devil was sitting before her. A very lovely devil. “No, I can’t agree to something when I don’t know what it is”.

“Huh, you’ve actually got a bit of wit. Witty Wisty, wistful Wisty, I’m waiting Wisty. Make a decision”.

Wisty frowned at the overuse of her name. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“Nope. If you don’t want to make a deal with me, just except the wish and choose something simple like riches or power”

Wisty’s fist clenched. “I don’t want either of those things”.

Vale cocked his head. “You’re a strange one, aren’t you? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you were napping in a graveyard”.

“Says the man who popped out of the hillside…Where did you come from anyways?”

“Otherwhere” he said superiorly, as if pleased to hold the fact that Wisty didn’t have a clue what he was talking about over her head.

“Do you ever give straight answers?” Wisty asked, letting some of the chagrin she felt creep into her voice.

“When I’m in the mood, it’s better than a lie isn’t it?”

“Some half-truths are worse than lies”.

He grinned at her then. It was frighteningly Cheshire. A chill ran down Wisty’s spine. She wanted to step back, but the headstone still dug into the backs of her knees and she didn’t dare turn away from him.

“You think you know how to play the game, little girl? Do not try me, if the next words out of your mouth are not an answer you shall regret it. I don’t like to leave my boons unpaid, but my patience wears thin” He stood.

Wisty watched him, torn. She thought of her mom…who had someone. Who she would have to part ways with someday. It was inevitable that she leave home, but without a word?

“If you don’t accept my offer you can return to your boring little existence and dream of this moment until you’re old and withered. Just imagine how you’ll spend your entire life wondering if I was even real to begin with”. He turned his back, ashen hair fluttering in the night wind and began to walk away.

“Wait!” Wisty took a step toward him despite the fact that her sensible side was screaming at her.

He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I-I’ll do it”.

“Do what?” he said, one brow raised.

“I’ll form a pact or contract or whatever it is with you” Wisty said, her breath coming quickly.

Vale smiled that frightening smile again. “I knew you’d make the right choice”. He returned, standing before Wisty.

“Uh, so how does this work?” Wisty said, not quite meeting Vale’s unnatural, slanted eyes.

“We’ll exchange oaths. You will state your full name and mine along with our conditions. I will go first in order for you to hear the correct phrasing…But firstly, your full name?

“Wisteria Torne”.

“I Vale Eliason oath to grant Wisteria Torne an extraordinary life in exchange for a favor of my choosing…Repeat the oath beginning with your name”.

Wisty took a deep breath. “I Wisteria Torne oath to grant Vale Eliason a favor of his choosing in exchange for an extraordinary life”. She was surprised to find that her voice had remained steady.

“Now, we seal our oaths”. Vale pulled a small knife from some hidden place in his coat.

Wisty took a step back. “What’s that for?” she asked him, eying the wickedly sharp blade.

“Don’t be a coward, it’s just a little cut” he said calmly.

“I think my definition of ‘a little cut’ and yours might be a bit different” Wisty informed him from several feet away.

Vale shrugged. “It’s necessary”. He stepped closer to Wisty again, expression daring her to stay put. “I need the thumb of your dominant hand”.

Hesitantly, Wisty held out her right hand, thumb facing up. Vale pressed the blade into her skin and drew a thin, red line across the pad of her digit. Wisty winced, the sting hit her a few seconds late. Beads of blood formed along the cut. She resisted the urge to stick it in her mouth. Vale drew the blade across the pad of his left thumb. The shallow wound wept scarlet droplets. Wisty had almost expected the color of Vale’s blood to be some unnatural shade, but it was the same as her own.

“Lick it” Vale said.

“What?”

Vale looked at Wisty as if she were stupid. “Stick your thumb in your mouth, got it?”

Wisty glared at him and sucked on the cut. The tang of salt and copper flooded her mouth. She had never been squeamish and didn’t mind the taste. Wisty blushed when she met Vale’s eyes. He missed nothing. Without looking away, Vale closed the last of the distance between them.

Wisty’s breathe stuttered and her hand dropped from her mouth. He was way too close. She couldn’t move. The scent of crushed juniper berries and other green things filled the air. Vale slid an arm around her waist, his long fingers digging into her side.

“Close your eyes” he whispered harshly.

Wisty let her eyes close, the image of Vale’s bloodstained lips burned into her mind. She was terrified, heart beating out a mad tattoo. Vale pressed his mouth firmly to hers. There was something cold and claiming about the kiss. Wisty made a small, cut-off sound, head swimming dizzyingly. The taste of blood was strong, metallic and salty. Something flared and sparked in her chest.

Vale pulled away, releasing Wisty without warning. Her eyes flew open and she stumbled backward, legs slamming into one of the grave markers. She would have pitched backward over the marker of Vale’s hand hadn’t shot out a grabbed her wrist. He pulled her upright with ease, a smirk stretching his features, brows raised in mock surprise.

He released her arm. “We have to leave, I’m being followed”.

“Seriously? We’re not going to talk about _that?”_

“What’s there to talk about? We made our oaths and exchanged blood, that’s all there is to it”.

“Did you…Did you have to kiss me like that?” Wisty asked him, twisting the fabric of her Jacket.

He had the audacity to laugh. “It was the easiest way to give you some of my magic and you’re going to need it…Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked her, running a finger over his lips.

Wisty was almost sure that she’d gone scarlet from neck to hair line. “Well, it’s not as if I go around kissing people all of the time…Magic?”

Vale’s face didn’t shift. “I’m flattered to have received one of your treasured kisses, who did you think you were saving them up for?”

“…I don’t know…Again, what magic?”

I’ll have to teach you about it later, when we’ve reached somewhere safe.

Suddenly, that awful cracking noise echoed up from the hill side again. Wisty turned along with Vale. Two heavily armored figures emerged from the black depths of the archway. They were both wielding massive swords and let out horrible, bloodthirsty cries when they spotted Vale and Wisty.

“Time to run!” Vale yelled, already spinning on his heel.

Wisty didn’t have to be told twice, she snatched up her bag and followed on his heels.

 So began their adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm finally releasing an original story! For those of you who have read Frostbitten there are a few similarities, but this is not the same universe. If you try and compare the two you'll probably end up confused. Opinions are seriously appreciated, especially as I'm aiming to be a published author someday or other. I haven't decided on set chapter release dates yet, I kind of wanted to see what kind of feedback the first chapter would get. I apologize for any wording/spelling mistakes in advance, I triple check but still manage to miss something ocassioanlly. Feel free to point them out! Anyhow, let me know what you think! This world has been such a part of my mind for so long. Maybe it's just another dimension in my brain. After all, books are one of the few true magics in this world. 
> 
> (Artwork is by me too :3) 
> 
> ~Winterberry 
> 
> Copyright 2015 Winterberry (Holly Thorn)


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